


Push and Pull

by winternacht



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Manipulation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-26 00:51:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14390685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winternacht/pseuds/winternacht
Summary: "People can surprise you." - "In Jon's case, I rather hope so."Jon's walking down a dark path. Martin suspects it; Elias welcomes it.





	Push and Pull

“Recording ends,” Martin said and switched off the recorder with shaking fingers. Then he checked his forearms nervously, sighing in relief when he found no trace of the violent gashes that the statement giver had suffered after she had read the first chapter of _The Stalwart Hunters' Almanac._ He hated how real the statements always felt to him. He wondered if it was the same for Jon. Melanie had said she could always feel the statement giver’s fear, but never their physical pain. If only he could shake the feeling that there was some deeper meaning behind it.

Martin decided to go get some tea, maybe splash some water on his face. Surely, he’d feel better afterwards.

He had barely left the office when he spotted Jon down the hallway. There was something odd about the way he walked, slower than his usual brisk, impatient pace.

“Jon!” he called out and made his way towards him.

For a couple of seconds, Jon seemed startled. Then he quickly pulled his jacket tighter around himself. But it was too late. Martin had already seen the blood on his shirt.

“Oh god, are you okay?” He closed the distance between them before Jon could answer and reached for the lapels of his jacket, still clutched tightly in Jon’s grip. With obvious reluctance, Jon let go and let Martin take a look at the huge stain on his chest

“It’s not mine,” Jon said quietly. “I’m alright.”

Martin let out a relieved sigh. Then it occurred to him how close he was standing to Jon. He let go of his jacket with a small cough and took a nervous step back. But all his awkwardness vanished again when he realised how very much not alright Jon looked. His face was paler than usual, increasing the contrast to the dark circles under his eyes. His eyes that wouldn’t meet Martin’s.

“What happened?” he asked gently.

Jon opened his mouth to answer when another voice called out to him. Elias.

Martin did not bother trying to hide his scowl as their boss approached.

“I didn’t expect you to be back so soon,” he said, almost pleasantly, as if he was complete unaware of Jon’s awful state. He didn’t even comment on the blood.

Martin hated him. He hated that he kept sending Jon on those missions that left him walking back to the institute injured or looking like death, using him like a tool, and for what?

“The interrogation finished earlier than expected,” Jon replied. His voice had lost its subdued quality. He retrieved a cassette tape and a small notebook from his pocket and handed them to Elias.

“Excellent,” he replied, the satisfaction in his voice palpable in a way that made Martin feel queasy. Then he realised what word Jon had used. _Interrogation._ He turned to look at him and was shocked to find the corners of his lips twitching into a small smile.

“Jon, I think you should go…” _home_ , Martin wanted to say, but then he remembered that Jon was staying at the Institute while looking for a new flat. And the thought of Jon staying there, alone, in this state, did not appeal to him at all. “… go get some fresh air,” he concluded a bit weakly, and he hated himself for the slip-up in this situation. “Maybe get some dinner too. After you’ve changed, I mean.”

“Actually, Martin, I would like to have a little talk with Jon, if you don’t mind?” Elias’ tone was airy, but his piercing gaze sent a shiver down Martin’s spine. Still, he decided not to back down. Not this time.

“I really think you need some rest, Jon,” he said carefully, deliberately turning away from Elias. “If you want, you can-“

“Why don’t you go ahead, Jon? I wanted to talk to Martin anyway,” Elias interrupted.

“It’s alright, Martin,” Jon said quickly. He gave Martin what appeared to be an attempt at a reassuring smile, but he still struggled to actually look at him. “I’ll… we’ll talk later. Okay?”

It was not okay at all. “I’ll wait up for you,” he called after Jon as he walked down the corridor.

“Very thoughtful,” Elias said with a mocking undertone. “And while you do that, you can go through the statement and file it away. I’ll expect your report this evening. That’s all.” Brusquely, he handed Martin the tape and notebook. Then he turned around and started walking away as well.

Martin was so taken aback that he couldn’t think of an answer quickly enough. He fumed as he watched Elias disappear around the corner, then he looked at the items in his hand. Loath as he was to follow his orders, they would at least contain some answers to his questions.

* * *

 Jon had hardly closed the door behind him when Elias opened it again, entering with a satisfied look on his face.

“Jon, Jon, Jon,” he said once he had looked the door and reached out to stroke Jon’s cheek. “You really outdid yourself today.”

The praise sent a spark of heat through Jon’s numb, exhausted body. And when Elias pulled him closer to kiss him, he willingly opened his mouth to accept the intrusion of his tongue. Jon hesitantly put his arms around Elias neck, aware of how particular Elias was about how and when he touched him. But this time, he allowed it, and Jon pulled him closer and clung to him, to the monster who embraced the truth about him wholeheartedly and who was the only one who could grant him a small reprieve from it. If Martin knew…

Elias pushed him against the wall and broke the kiss suddenly, leaving Jon to gasp for air and hungry for more. He dropped his arms to his sides when Elias stepped back and started pushing the jacket of his shoulders. Then, with the tip of his index finger, he traced the edges of the bloody stain on Jon’s shirt. It was still damp from Jon’s attempt to at least wash it off his neck, clumsily, over the sink in the visitor’s restroom.

“How did it feel, Jon?” Elias asked lightly.

“Horrible,” Jon said, and Elias laughed. They both knew it was a lie. But it was the answer Jon wanted to be true.

“Are you sure about that?” There was no compulsive force in the question, not that Jon was aware of, but the teasing tone had a slight edge to it that sent his heart pounding with fear and arousal.

“It felt good,” he admitted with a sinking sense of shame, and Elias rewarded him with another kiss as he started unbuttoning his shirt. Soon, his shirt hit the floor, and his undershirt followed. The buttons of Elias’ suit jacket were cold against his chest.

“How do you always know everything?” Jon murmured as Elias began to kiss his neck. He could feel him exhale softly against his skin, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine.

“I don’t,” Elias said, his teeth grazing the soft flesh just above Jon’s collarbone.

“Then how do you always know everything about me?”

In response, Elias sank his teeth into the skin he’s been teasing, making Jon moan out loud as pain and pleasure spiked through his system. And then he could feel it, the sensation of thousands of eyes staring at him, only at him. His knees buckled, but Elias held him in place, and the sensation faded again.

“You’re not ready for more yet. But soon…” Elias whispered against his skin, and the mix of shameful anticipation and dread sent Jon’s mind spiralling. As did Elias’ hand that was pressing against the bulge in his trousers.

Jon’s breathing hitched as Elias slowly sank to the floor in front of him. It wasn’t a position he’d ever expected to see him in, much less in front of him. The sight excited him more than he liked to admit, and when Elias started unbuttoning his trousers, it was all he could do not to buck his hips in response.

He covered his mouth when Elias freed his erection, afraid to let out obscene noises so close to the door. The loose fist Elias moved slowly up and down his cock did not grant him the satisfaction he craved, but it pushed all the messy thoughts out of his mind until all that was left was pure, unadulterated need.

Swallowing down his needy whimpers when Elias licked pearls of precome off the tip was a challenge; containing a drawn-out moan when Elias took him into his mouth an impossibility. As if by reflex, he lowered his right hand to Elias’ head. His fingertips had barely brushed the top of his hair when Elias’ hand shot up, grabbed him by the wrist and pushed it to the wall. A message Jon received loud and clear. His kept his left hand clamped over his mouth as Elias took him in deeper, and though his grip on Jon’s wrist loosened considerably, Jon didn’t dare remove his hand from the wall, pushing it flat against the surface for a modicum of support.

Whenever he glanced down, he would see Elias staring intently at him. Then, as if to challenge him, Elias would nearly release his cock, until the head was just resting on his outstretched tongue, then suck him in again slowly until he had taken in his full length again. The sight was almost too much to handle for Jon.

“Elias,” he panted eventually, so close to the edge, barely able to pronounce his name. It was then that Elias chose to withdraw, leaving him standing on weak, trembling knees as he got up. For a second, Jon thought he would stop completely, ask him to get dressed again and leave his office in his messy state, but one look at him completely dispelled the notion. His eyes were ablaze with desire, his face flushed. He could see glossy droplets on Elias’ tie and quickly averted his eyes. His gaze fell onto the hardness between Elias’ legs.

“Can I…?” he began and moved closer, kicking off his trousers and pants. Gingerly, he pressed a hand against the bulge, delighted to find that Elias allowed the touch. He indulged Jon for a couple of seconds, rewarding him with small, breathless sounds, before he grabbed his wrist again and marched him over to the desk. All he needed was a light push on his back, and Jon gladly complied and bent over the desk.

* * *

Listening to the statements of the remaining members of the People’s Church of the Divine Host turned out to be quite a challenge for Martin. He was a little relieved to discover they had been taken at a prison, probably with lots of cameras around and people watching. It felt safe. Or at least safer than any other statement-hunting-missions Jon had undertaken.

But something was off, he felt, and he wasn’t sure if it was about Jon or his own reactions. He had listened to Jon’s recording of countless of statements and they had never affected him. Disturbed him, yes, frightened him, sure, nauseated him, more than he could count, but never before had he felt such a connection to the statement givers, almost as if he had been reading the statements himself.

He leafed through the notebook between statements, but he could hardly focus on the writing between the drops of blood. All he could tell with certainty was that this wasn’t Jon’s handwriting.

If the first three statements had been rough, they were nothing compared to the one that followed. It started slowly, the statement giver’s speech too measured, too careful, too hesitant, slowing down at irregular intervals until Jon asked a question Martin could barely hear through the crackling static.

The statement ground to a halt when Jon asked about their plans for Ny-Ålesund. For a couple of seconds, there was silence. Then he slammed his hands over his mouth as the pain exploded behind his lips.

* * *

Elias was sitting in his chair, leaning back, his eyes closed, watching in on Jon as he was gathering the statements of the remaining members of the People’s Church of the Divine Host in a small, dull-grey-painted room. While no true statement could ever be considered negligible, the first three members did not contain the information he was looking for. They easily succumbed to Jon’s compulsion, barely costing him any energy. Still, it had been no easy task to arrange those interviews with Elias’ perhaps slightly unorthodox stipulations, and the more statements, the better, as far as he was concerned.

When Thomas Smith entered the room, Elias knew immediately that this was the man he had been looking for. He could see that Jon struggled to keep his hold on him and after four insistent questions, the power of which Elias could feel reverberating in his bones, his nose started bleeding. But Jon didn’t seem to notice at all, didn’t even bother wiping the blood away. Finally, he asked the key question.

“What exactly are your plans for Ny-Ålesund?”

Elias leaned forward, waiting for the answer, when suddenly, blood started trickling from the corner of Smith’s grinning mouth. He spat at Jon, and Elias saw a pink piece of flesh bounce off his chest and drop onto the table in front of him.

Elias slammed his fist onto the desk. This was not going as planned. Perhaps he had sent in Jon too early. Perhaps he had overestimated the extent of his powers. Now that the Church members knew they were being targeted, he could be sure there would be no second chance to interrogate any of them.

It was only when his rage subsided slightly that he took notice of Jon’s expression. Neutral. Indifferent. He hadn’t even moved from his seat. All he did was look towards the door, as if he was expecting someone to burst in any moment. Of course, nobody would. Elias had made sure the interviews would not be interrupted once Jon had entered the room.

He almost let out a delighted laugh when Jon calmly reached into his jacket’s pocket, retrieved a small notebook and pen, and pushed them over to Smith.

“Write it down,” he said, a simple enough order with a force behind it that sent Elias’ pulse racing. And Smith reached for the pen and started to sob.


End file.
